


A Reluctant Cassius

by Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise



Series: Loki Fics [2]
Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works, Shakespeare - History Plays, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Historical References, Loki Angst, Moral Dilemmas, Pre-Thor (2011), References to Hamlet, References to Shakespeare, Short, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise/pseuds/Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prior to Thor's coronation, Frigga and Loki discuss Midgardian history. Revealed parallels cast an ominous shadow on the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reluctant Cassius

He lay on the bed, thumb tracing the side of the book.

_The time is out of joint. O cursèd spite,_

_That ever I was born to set it right!_

He closed his eyes and sighed. Uncanny, that the writing of a Midgardian poet some 400 years past could so perfectly describe his present.

A knock on the door.

He marked the end with his finger and sat back.

“Enter.”

Frigga slipped inside and closed the door. Her face brightened. “Are you enjoying the books I sent?”

He half-smiled and flipped ahead several pages, found the passage. “Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep—No more—and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation devoutly to be wished!”

Alarm crossed her face. “Loki...”

A pang shot through his chest, a thrill of adrenaline quieting. He sat upright and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “It's alright, mother. It's Hamlet's soliloquy, not mine.” He flipped shut the cover and it made a pleasing thud. “You said this was a treasure of Midgardian literature.”

“Yes, one of the most famous.” She took a seat at the little table and smiled. “I thought it good that a future ruler have knowledge of his subjects.”

He half-smiled. “You know it’s Thor’s coronation next week, not mine.”

A shadow flitted across her face. “I know. But while he may wear the crown, you’ll be at his side to advise him. He needs your wisdom just as you need his strength.”

His throat tightened and he nodded, then held up the tome. “You've read these.”

“Yes.”

“Which is your favorite?”

“Hm...” She took on a faraway expression. After a moment she inhaled. “Henry IV, parts one and two.  You remind me of Hal.”

“Hal is the protagonist?” He slipped to his feet and sat beside her.

“The protagonist, yes, but not initially the hero. He was the crown prince, but set aside his royalty for life among the commoners. Unlike you, he was not honorable in his deviance. All shuddered to think of his coming reign. However...in the end, he revealed that he had become wise and noble, and ruled as one of England's greatest warrior kings.”

His eyebrows rose. “I should hardly count among the noble one who wages war over naught more than land.”

“How do you know it was such?”

“I've brushed through Midgardian history. Once crowned Henry V, Hal wages war with France over vague ancestral claims. He conquers in a stroke of military genius before dying on the battlefield two years later. France and England are left to his infant son, who lost France and 'made his England bleed'.” 

She nodded. “How do you think the war would have been justified?”

A current of warning. Was this a literary discussion, or a subtle examination of his intentions?

“Perhaps if the French had threatened first.”

“Hm. It wasn’t unlikely that they were considering an attack. Henry's conquest was launched halfway through a series of wars between the two—they lasted 116 years, fought by generation after generation. They call it The Hundred Years' War.”

He nodded. “Yes, but he declared war when France was split by a civil war and their king was mad. Strategically it was a sound move, but they posed no threat to England.”

“Perhaps it was best of him to strike while the enemy was weak.” Her gaze was keen. Suspicion, fear. She was sounding his ambitions, reading his life and goals from the pages of a centuries-old play. What were his plans in the face of his brother’s coronation? She feared his enmity towards the Jotun, feared his suspicion—feared his knowledge about the truth of the “peace” between the two Realms. Would he upset the fragile treaty, and with what reasoning? ...Or maybe she was just musing on the text.

He nodded. “As a general, I would say yes—but as myself, I would hesitate. The entire basis of that war was nothing more than a back-and-forth land-grab. I know that in their culture they were subject to a different set of influences and expectations, and for sure there were glimmers of nobility, but beneath it all was nothing more than greed and cyclical revenge. It could have been called off at any time if not for inflamed pride.” _My quarrel with the Jotun is over lives rather than land._

She nodded slowly. “You know the French Dauphin wanted a war with England. He proved it via his response to the initial negotiation.”

 _And if they want a war with us, should we not strike while they are still disorganized in their preparation? The Jotun are gearing for the breakage of a treaty; the French were not._ Loki chuckled. “Sending a crate of tennis balls, yes.” He shook his head. “Bad move on their part, though...it must have been a delicious moment.” He laughed again, then sighed. “I think that even had they responded differently Henry would have found a way." _Such will be the way with their king. The conflict is inevitable, but the first and last strike will be ours._

There was a long pause. His fingers traced the embossed leather cover and his pulse thumped. They’d had similar discussions before, but in the shadow of his ambition every word pierced like a dart and her placid gaze was scorching.

“What would you have done in his place?”

He took a breath, and a silent moment passed. He shrugged. “Were I truly him, I believe I would see challenges that I cannot understand from this perspective. I hope that even so, I would recognize the blood of my people as more precious than the advancement of my own banner...even more than my kingly sense of 'honor'. Honor warped by political expectations and foolish tradition is not truly to be prized.” His honest heart. The parallels she sought to display broke down. Asgard was as France, not as England; they stood as the would-be victim if the upper ground was not seized preemptively. He wasn’t warring for fruitless gain--

“Why would you wage a war, Loki?” Her eyes glinted.

“To protect my people.” He met her gaze, icy blue like his own. A sharp anxious pang. Could she see it in his eyes—his bloody plan for peace? Would she understand if he revealed it?

After a moment she nodded and took his hand. “I’m proud of you.” She rubbed its back with her thumb. “Even if your brother is king, you’ll be a fine adviser. Your role is every bit as important as his. You must never doubt it for a moment. In time, he’ll come to appreciate you for the treasure you are. Don’t fear.”

Guilt crashed in a wave and he forced a smile. “Thank you, mother.”

She returned it and released his hand, rose.

Nausea churned inside as he also rose, held the pleasant demeanor as he walked her to the door.

“I love you, my son.”

His throat tightened and he smiled again. “I love you too.”

Concern flicked across her face. “Are you alright?”

“Just a bit tired.”

She nodded and the door closed. He stood with his hand on the frame. Such an easy exchange of affection would be unthinkable in a weeks’ time. Even if she didn’t suspect now, he had at most a month before the world turned upside down. Coals of pain smoldered in his chest. _The time is out of joint, o cursed spite..._

Despite the shadows cast by conquests of empty ambition, despite a history of vain bloodshed and fruitless pain--in times like this, war was the only path to peace. His fingers curled into a fist. For the sake of the lives to be spared by his violence, he had to be in the right. He was. He was in the right.

He was in the right.

 

He was in the right.

 


End file.
